Falling
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: There once was an Angel, she was from the first version of the Matrix. She soon fell from the sky. The Angel, Amitiel was soon among the Agents on the groud where she found Smith who wanted to fly just like her.


    There once was an Angel, she fell from the sky.

    There aren't many of her kind anymore. They come from the first version of the Matrix, many have been Deleted, Upgraded, or Exiled. How she has come to see this day and this version is truly a miracle. And she knows it, as she stares off into the city with the curiosity of a child. She begins to walk to the edge of the tall skyscraper that over looks the city, and open her arms out as she always does before taking flight. And she stands at the edge, rising from it's confining surface... To leave this ground, to go to the sky...

    She has seen the rise and fall of the many Matrix versions, heard the destruction of five cities all named Zion. She watched over the chaos in her heavenly sky. And yet...This city is new to her.

    She has never touched the ground, she has always stayed within the reach of the sky. She is an Angel. Her feathered wings now are bound within this human shell she has taken to travel to the ground.

    Her creation came among with several others of her kind. Much like the stories of Angels, there was a hierarchy of power and purpose. Together she and her people maintained the first version of the Matrix. They would watch, record, and calculate to give the humans as much comfort as they desired. Truly it was paradise, a utopia, heaven.

    The Angels, in all their glory, flew above within the skies of the Matrix, seen by humans as their guardians in that perfect world. They flew together, as almost the only programs needed to maintain that world. And so they thought among themselves as the sole creators of such a place, and they relished in its perfection. Playing within the reach of warmth the artificial sun spread across their wings. Their skin radiating a pure white glow, a shining light that came from within themselves, the Source. They saw themselves as the only reason this world existed.

    As if they had wandered a cold and vacant white place, a void, a construct waiting for something to be built. As if they truly built this place from nothing but white. As if they truly ever touched the ground, and used their hands to work, to sculpt the Matrix in the likeness of a heaven the humans had once thought of. But truly they did no such thing. They were simply Angels, acting as God.

    What a tragedy it was to see their world fail. They were like the humans in their perfect world, they had never known pain until then, when the world became to crash down. The Angels, no matter how much power they were given to maintain the Matrix, failed. The Architect failed. The Machines failed. And now, chaos and pain ran through the streets of the Matrix. People laughing themselves into madness, the streets being stained with blood, people dropping dead in the streets. Crops were being lost, and the Angels could do nothing, but creep down from the skies, and stare at the horror.

    The Heaven failed, as even the skies, the home of the Angels, began to crumble. The skies would turn black, as they would fade in and out of being green coding, then they would simply vanish, self deleting itself back to the Source. Soon, there was no more sky, the Angels could go to.

    And so began the second version of the Matrix.

    And so began the redemption of the Angels, who learned that they had no power, a little perhaps, but not enough to frolic over.

    The Angels now disappeared from the sky, becoming one with the Matrix, becoming invisible. Simply programs serving their purpose without question, just as all programs began to do. They were joined by other programs, others that maintained weather, history, all sorts of things.

    And so began the reign of Agents.

    The Angels had spoken of the Agents, who seemed to be created for exactly the opposite reason for why they were created. Kill rather than nurture. How strange these Agents were to them, how horrible, how pitiful.

    Of course in all their years of existing, their numbers grew fewer and fewer. The entire Seraphim Order had already been deleted. The Archangels survived as a whole, but others were not so blessed. At least she has been able to see this day. She, not even an Archangel, just a mere two steps below them.

    A miracle she called it, to have seen the entire history of the Matrix.

    And yet, she had not seen this city, or the Agents she had spoken of so many times. She and her kind had been hidden from the surface of the Matrix since the first failure of it. And now...

    Now she has a human shell, and hands she can touch with. She has a solid body, not just an entity serving a purpose, she is closer to being real than she has in over hundreds of years.

    Her black hair blew in the wind, and her white skin almost shined like it used to.

    How she wanted to fly, again. How she remembered flying, entity or not, flying through the skies. What a gift flying was. Maybe just once...Maybe just one small flight...then she shall return to the reason why she stands there today. Just one flap of her wings that are no longer there.

"What are you doing?"

    Someone grabs her by the arm, and pulls her away from sky. She turns around, to see black covering blue.

"I..." She looks to the edge. "I was going to fly." She tells the Agent.

    The Agent stares blankly at her, before walking past her towards the edge.

"You forget you do not have your wings." He tells her, not even turning to her.

    She lowers her head and looks behind where two white wings should have been.

"It does not feel that way." She tells the Agent.

    The Agent says nothing, and only allows her the welcoming of his non existent stare. He joins his position at the edge, standing where she once had. And he leaves her behind.

"I think I would be able to fly anyway. I believe I can." The Angel says, walking towards him. "Belief is a powerful thing here."

    The Angel stops just behind the Agent, wondering if he would turn to her and acknowledge her. He doesn't, so she joins him, standing next to him on the edge. She looks over at him, as he stands still, staring right in front of himself. She raises an eyebrow, as she straightens herself, and commences to stare right in front of her. She mimics him, copying his blank stare.

    The Agent notices her mimics and turns to the strange and elderly program he has come to know as an Angel. He tilts his head at her, as she begins to look over him again.

    The Agent lowers his head, and returns to his vacant stare.

"This is my first time returning to a shell." The Angel says, destroying the silence.

    The Agents says nothing, and the Angel shrugs.

"I am told you are always in a shell." She looks over at the Agents, lowering her head.

"Yes." The Agent says, not looking at her.

"So you haven't...been without a shell?"

"No, when we are not needed we return to the Mainframe and are stored until further use."

"Oh...You and the others...you look so much alike."

    The Agent turns to her.

"There is no need for us to have any distinguishing characteristics." The Agents tells her.

"Oh, I just thought you would like looking different from them." The Angel turns her head.

"Yes..."

    The Angel watches as the Agent return to his vacant stare. How strange these Agents are, she had always thought. How strange these Agents are, her people said. They had spoken much about Agents. These programs that pretend to be humans merely to kill. These horrible programs. These programs that never knew the gift of an emotion. How strange they are. How deprived they are.

    There was not much known of Agents by other programs. Only that they bring death to all who defy the Mainframe. The Angel tilts her head, they are like the Angels of death, she thinks trying to compare them to her and her kind.

    The Angel stood with her hands behind her back, holding what would've been wings, turning her head towards this Agent. This program in all black, with a gun next to his heart.

    She wished he would look at her.

    But silence was all he gave her. So the Angel turned her curiosity to the city she had once known so well, hundreds of years ago. It looked so , darker... more artificial. Concrete, and metal made this city. Everything had a rather pale color to it, even the sky she once lived within.

    But it didn't matter, as she stared down fifteen stories down, at the people she once watched. As they walked in their streets, and drove in their roads.

    She wanted to fly.

"You are an Angel, correct? From the first version." The Agent asks.

    The Angel turns to the Agent, surprised at him who now speaks.

"Yes. Yes I am." She nods.

"Fascinating."

"Oh, thank you."

"So now there is an Angel among us, is that not a sign of the apocalypse?"

"How would you know of the apocalypse?"

    The Agent turns to her.

"You did not answer my question." He tells her.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

    The Angel shrugs, not answering the Agent. Instead she turns away, wondering how he would know of such a thing as the end of the world. The Agent stares at her, expecting an answer, but settles for her silence. The Angel slightly looks up at the Agent.

    There is something in the back of her head, something telling her something is wrong. She can't help but wonder if this Agent wants the end to come. Staring up at the Agent, with his distant expression, he is as a stranger to her.

    She turns her head away once again.

"Can you hear anything?" The Agent asks her.

"Huh?"

"Can you hear anything?"

"Oh, um..."

    The Angel turns towards the city once again, and serves the only reason why she here, standing there right next to an Agent. Her purpose after all, is communication. She maintains the connection between all forms of intelligence within the Matrix to the Machine world. And she has been brought her to seek out humans whose connections are weak. She is here to aid Agents in their search and destroy purposes to find Rebels and the entire Resistance.

    The connections come in the form of whispers and screams, thoughts and emotions, even colors. The connections come to her as connections to her and whoever she is trying to maintain. The connections. The louder and stronger they are, the safer the person is within the Matrix. The quieter, and more distant, are people that are either dying, or are free.

"This is a great deal easier when not in a shell." The Angel states. "There." She points across to other buildings. "Tenth floor, they're moving."

    The Agent doesn't even nod to her, or look at her. He just places his hand over his earpiece. The Angel still points as she stares at the unmoving Agent. Then within a moment's pass, the Agent is gone, and flying towards the other building, and he lands gently, quickly getting out his gun. The Angel, once again left behind, stares at him from across the streets, her mouth slightly open.

    How amazing these Agents are.

    She lowers her head, and smiles. She runs towards the edge, spreading the wings that are bound within her shell, breaking the shell to allow them freedom. The flight is quick, she does not even need to spread her wings to their full length, she flaps them once, and lowers her legs in front of her ready to land. She pushes her wings back into the shell, so they may vanish for no human eyes could see them. And she lands, right next to the Agent. Her wings now returning to beneath the shell, the shell repairing itself. She tilts her head at the Agent, as two feathers fall to the ground.

"I told you I would be able to fly." She says.

    The Agent glances at her, holding his gun steady.

"You are able to fly as well?" She asks.

"I do not fly, I jump."

"Jump?"

    The Angel turns her head towards the door, where the Agent aims his gun. She watches the door, sensing the Rebels running closer, running straight into this Agent's gun, straight to their deaths.

    Then she turns to the Agent, with his vacant stare, a void of any emotion, even as he stands there ready to kill someone.

"Do you have a name? I have a name. It is a beautiful name as well. It is the name humans gave a real Angels. My name is Amitiel." She says.

    The Agent says nothing.

"Do you have a name?" She repeats.

    The Agent lowers his head, as the door his gun is aimed for begins to open. He fires his gun three times, hitting two humans in trench coats. Slowly the humans in trench coat fall to the ground, and the Angel stares at them, stepping back at their dead bodies.

    Her eyes widen, as she looks up at the Agent, who now places his gun back in his holster, near his heart.

"My name..." The Agent begins.

    He turns to her.

"My name is Smith."

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Next Chapter if anyone wants me to continue: Whispers of the Mind

Please R/R!

Credit for giving me the plot and concept of this story goes to Selina Enriquez.


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